bi_janus
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My grandmother was fond of reminding me, "A day in which you don't piss someone off, isn't a day worth living." Of course, the list of people I want to piss off includes no one here, and my existence is enough to piss some people off, which reduces the effort considerably. I agree with Lug that climate change is amiss.
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The sentiment is perfect, and the first two lines of the third stanza a wonderful morsel, Camy.
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Ever Present (1978)
Bi Janus
For Elwin, Ann, and Justine
Changing the bed linen
and then to the laundry room
as we do after each romp
They wouldn’t mind the task
We are too polite
to avoid the courtesy
The women are ever present
something of them even
in our coupling frenzy
Their smiles
and wagging heads
They both have boys
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Quickfire
Bi Janus
Cracking open now
in the evening
upon the floor,
a great egg
shattered under
its own weight
What strides
from the juice,
shaking off
all expectation,
every desire?
Startling at that
Late in the day’s
disappointment,
calibrated
exquisitely,
the fire heated
beyond love’s joy,
Beyond fear
of love’s ceasing,
whistling into
a distance
no witness
may imagine
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My experience is much as Cole's. I recall that recognizing shame in some of my playmates was puzzling. I don't think we feel shame except in the context of disappointing some standard or authority, and Des is right -- where sex is concerned, the standard is usually religious. I am sorry that the feelings of shame or guilt attending young people's expressions of sexuality sometimes persist for such long time.
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Unsettling the future is a worthy occupation.
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Heart to Page
Bi Janus
Betimes, like a honeycomb
from which sweet oil
oozes over the fingers
with the barest squeeze.
Other times, as a pit
from the heart
of a dry peach, nothing
though in the fingers’ vise.
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Thanks, James. Triangles, yes, indeed.
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Entangled
Bi Janus
Edges of the outrushing
artifice of our past
(because the past
is only artifice)
blur over the shoulder,
as the outline
of what fades
is less
and less clear
though it whispers
ever closer to the ear.
Your arms rest
more through me
than about me.
Will they pluck
a heart or a lung
for safekeeping
when I pull away
to a future we resist?
His arms, legs,
and that other limb
we share
are a harmony attached
to beauty and soul.
Three become
one.
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On the net, no one knows you're a dog. Kamakura's Dealing with Liquids is available on iTunes.
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The Hand (1991)
Bi Janus
Through smoke of fine Havanas,
the dealer deals two down
on perfect green felt.
The Nazarene, in the small blind,
without pause calls.
The Burning Bush,
in the big blind, folds,
cranky but unconsumed.
The Bringer of Judgment
frowns and raises.
The goat-footed boy
lowers the pipes and is in.
The Preserver shrugs
and mucks his hand.
The lover of Radha
bluffs at the pot.
The Enlightened One, on the button,
throws chips without looking.
They all call.
The dealer is quiet,
taking them through flop,
turn, and river.
A naked boy brings
a tray of longneck beers.
Their concupiscent eyes,
excepting the hooved-one’s,
betray the Law
as the dealer smiles.
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A comment that comes purely from living with biostatisticians: the study says that Mississippi has the highest proportion of same sex couples raising children, not the largest number.
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O-nami
Bi Janus
Sea sounds
confound the ear
as the snowy mountain
contours before me
mimic swelling waves,
snow into ocean cries,
residue of heartfelt wonder.
The voices of the boys
laughing on the trail
to the Devil’s Elbow
raise you from the ash
crunching under foot.
Bellies on short boards,
we nose over swells
made across the world
by a storm we shan't see.
A couple in the evening,
riding again and again
toward the eastern shore
and our clothing,
we force past the breakers
westward toward Mexico
to more gentle undulation,
and wait side by side
for a wave to lift us.
As I turn to catch, dark friend,
you catch my hand with yours,
keeping us joined and pointed
to the disk of the dipping sun,
every hope and fear
distilled to shared silence,
delaying an inevitable journey.
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Des,
I had to let the drugs take control before reflecting on this one. Even princes of the undead suffer embarrassing moments, and tailors are the bane of a well-dressed being. Why are they in the tomb in the first place, except to see a frozen bit of restrained decomposition. Is there anything this poor soul could have become that did not distress his visitors. If only they had conquered fear and greeting the resident.
On the other hand, I had a wonderful discussion at week's end with a friend about forgiveness, redemption, and karma. The final word of the few we spoke was "entanglement."
Thanks for giving me a smile and some reflection.
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James,
You've missed the concept. The fish taco serves as a book mark.
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It's available on iTunes or you can try this:
http://www.diesel-ebooks.com/item/SW00000128436/Alexander-Dani-Shattered-Glass/1.html
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Here's what Jason West, the once and now again mayor of New Palz, NY and who performed gay marriages eight years ago before they were sanctioned in law in NY State, said of the President's announcement. West, who identifies as straight, was voted out of office, ostracized in his community, and unable to find work for a while. He was elected mayor again recently as a member of the Green Party.
"I'm happy the president finally joined the 21st century and has recognized the civil rights of these Americans. But until he starts pushing for a federal law, the various Gay-Straight Alliances in any high school in the country are doing more to advance the cause than he is. They're the ones in the front lines."
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Thanks for sharing this moving photograph.
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Does this mean that Des will never use an iPad?
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Conversion of the Innocents
Bi Janus
For John, who at least died unashamed
The enervation
of the Sacred
does not follow
from a man
loving a man.
Shhh! So little time
you had in sunlight,
most in the shadow
of a father’s unkindness.
I thought together we would
give you relief,
but, no, only brief joy
overcome by your tears
while my heart vibrated
between our baptismal trysts.
Rather, the impulse
precedes shame,
until Fathers
strike it cold,
when a boy
loves a boy.
Johnno, you thinking
my walls passing strange,
as from them, surfer boys
and Ursula stared,
while the eyes from yours,
watching us cavort,
were above the thorn-wreathed
Sacred Heart of Jesus.
You were the one abashed
when I took your hand
on the street,
and you never quite believed,
even after we mixed it up
with that fine young girl.
No Holy Writ
instructs human love,
alas excepting Solomon,
but we might find the way
if tentative embrace
is not decried
by shame.
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Camy has been very helpful in reminding me of the deep connection between poetry and song. All of my poems have to do with love (albeit mingled with loss, religion, and death) and not a few with sex. Among my favorite songwriter/poets is Steven Merritt, and one of my favorite Merritt lyrics is the song below, especially the lines:
"Some of it is just transcendental
Some of it is just really dumb"
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Many years of working out with Japanese partners in dojos across the US and in Japan have conditioned me to associate hearing nihongo with spurting nozzles, but I wouldn't have risked having German Shepherds involved.
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Methinks they're selling a notion--that if I buy the clothing, I'll look like those guys. Even I won't fall for that one. Nevertheless, Ann and I do enjoy the images, lately appearing in the NYT among other outlets.
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You can't tell much about the potter by looking at his pots. In addition to the usual nonsense, he displays a remarkable misunderstanding of evolution. I can't think of a single evolutionary biologist who thinks that humans "divided off off from chimps." Chimps everywhere should be offended.
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Finally was able to finish the third chapter. I have told Camy before that I find his prose musical, and these stories were no exception. Reading them was thoroughly diverting and pleasurable.